


Bursts of Inspiration

by Epy



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epy/pseuds/Epy
Summary: I wanted to organize my couple of short stories and put them in one place. This is that place.





	1. It's Just Me

They’re nervous. You can see that right away. The downward cast eyes. The arm rubbing. The stuttering of their words. This is something new for them, something they don’t have any experience in. You’re sure that if you had super hearing you’d hear their heartbeat going a million miles an hour in their chest. A first date will do that to someone. But you know this is different. You’ve known them for a long time, years at this point. You know things about each other that no one else does. The version of you that they get to see is reserved only for them. You’re willing to bet money that it’s the same the other way around. So you step forward and tilt their chin up so that their eyes meet yours. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”

They’re nervous. Anyone would be in this situation. This is a strange new thing, more intimate than anything the two of you have experienced before. Tonight the dynamic between you is going to change forever. You know there’s no going back after this. And so do they. But it’s something you’ve both talked about and are positive that you want to do. You’re both committed, even if you both are a little scared. But you shove your nerves aside as you stroke their blushing cheek. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”

They’re nervous. This is a big day, a milestone in your relationship. You stand at the altar, waiting for them to reach you. You know this is a once in a lifetime experience, so you focus on remembering every single detail. The way they seem to float down the aisle, lighter than air. The bright eyes that shine up at you as you say your vows. The beaming smile that crosses their lips when you slip on the ring. And yet you can’t help noticing the way their hands slightly shake. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”

They’re nervous. You pace back and forth across the tiled floor. You want to burst through the doors but you know you can’t. They wanted to do things this way, a little traditional, but you’re fine with that. At least you were right up until this moment. You want to be by their side, holding their hand as a new life enters your world. Your head whips up when you’re called in, and you’re stopped in you tracks by the sight you see. The one you love, cradling the newest addition to your family. You walk up slowly and reach out a shaking hand, finally allowing it to come to rest on their shoulder. They look up and give you a tired smile. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”

They’re nervous. It’s been a long day. The school called you to talk with the principal. Some sort of trouble with a boy at school. It was his fault, but the constant back and forth with his parents and the principal took its toll on all of you. Not to mention that you both had to leave work early unannounced, which you know annoys their boss to no end and will result in some kind of trouble. The coffee pot goes off; you grab two mugs and fill them generously. They sit behind the glow of the computer screen, their shoulders slouching more than you’ve seen before. You nudge them as you place the coffee on the table beside them. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”

They’re nervous. A hospital room. The beeping noise bores into your brain like a woodpecker, consistent and painful. You wish this day hadn’t come so soon. They weren’t meant to leave you like this, not when they still had so much life to live and a child to see graduate college next year. But life is a strange thing and we can’t always control it. They release a shaky breath as their eyes open. They’re blank and tired. You reach out and take their hand, and they look over, slightly startled. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”

You’re nervous. It’s a sunny day. Puffy white clouds drift lazily across the sky. The bouquet of flowers in your hand look vibrant in the warm summer sun. Their stone shines, just like their eyes used to whenever they looked at you and your daughter playing together when she was little. You place the flowers on the grass and sit down. Your palm rests on the name engraved on the cool surface. “Hey,” you say with a smile, “it’s just me.”


	2. Admin

The words of the textbook in front of you begin to blur as your eyelids droop. You force them back open again and blink hard. They eventually refocus on a notebook covered with your sloppy handwriting.

Finals week is a bitch. Thank god your favorite coffee shop extends their hours just so students like you can do their last minute cramming. It’s a quaint little place. Not as popular as the chain coffee shop on the other corner, but it has hot chocolate that doesn’t taste like burned coffee mixed with chocolate syrup, and the chairs at the window counter are comfy. It’s warm and lighting is low and yellow. Probably why you keep nearly drifting off to sleep on top of your textbook, you think to yourself as you fight your falling eyelids once again.

You sigh, close your eyes, and rub your weary face.

A horn blares outside.

Tires squeal.

Metal crunches and glass shatters.

Silence.

A moment later you hear he gentle hissing of smashed engines and parts leaking fluid onto the pavement. A few shouts begin to call out in the night. The barista at the counter behind you utters a curse and you hear them pick up the phone.

This whole time you’ve kept your eyes shut. You sigh again.

“Console,” you call out.

When you open your eyes, the flashing tail lights of the cars are stuck halfway between off and on. You turn to the barista and see them standing with the phone halfway to their ear.

A light blue screen flashes into view in front of you, an arrow blinking on the left side.

“Undo past three minutes and apply brakes to car…” You lean forward to get a view of the license plate of the car closest to the shop. “GHK4872 five seconds prior to original time.”

“Yes Admin. Anything else?” a cheery, robotic voice asks.

“Negative. Return to idle mode after command is completed.”

“Thank you Admin.”

The blue screen blinks out. You look up and the cars are no longer in the street. The barista is busy scrubbing down the counter at the end opposite of the phone. The notes you’d taken three minutes ago are no longer in your notebook.

“Dammit,” you mutter under your breath.

Soon you hear a horn blare outside and the squeal of tires again, but this time there is no crunching metal or shattering glass. Instead you can vaguely hear the sound of someone cursing out their window.

You smile at your notebook as you scribble down another line.


	3. Veggie Zombie

You weren’t expecting it, to say the least.

The minute a zombie is able to smell blood, they usually pounce, rabid and desperate. You knew this, and cursed yourself for cutting your hand on that broken fence post. You didn’t mean to. It just happened when you were climbing over the barbed wire. There were no zombies in sight either in that massive field, so you thought you would be fine.

The figure that shambled out from the nearby woods told you otherwise.

You grabbed your knife from your side, ready for a brawl, but instead of a feral charge the zombie just looked at you. Not moving. Just staring. Contemplating almost.

The sniffle and look it gave you was almost like it was offended.

When it then turned back toward the woods, your curious nature kicked in. At that time you still hadn’t gotten a handle on it. It should have gotten you killed.

During your travels thus far you discovered that people who became zombies tended to keep some of the traits they had in life. In the case of this zombie, they must have been a vegetarian or vegan or something, because they had no interest in meat. Not only did it pointedly ignore you for two hours, it also walked right by a fresh deer carcass.

The first time you saw it remotely act like a classic zombie was when you two came across a small grocery store in a nearby town. One look at those vegetables and the zombie lost its freaking mind. Carrots, potatoes, you name it. They all suffered its wrath.

Of course in the middle of this somehow morbid spectacle, a fully carnivorous zombie would show up. It took you by surprise and knocked the knife out of your hand. You scrambled around the store, looking for anything that might be a useful weapon. The thing about the apocalypse though is that all the useful items tend to go first. Probably why some vegetables were still around, you thought in the midst of your mad sprint.

An offset tile in the floor sent you sprawling to the ground. You turned over just in time to see the carnivorous zombie looming over you, exposed, yellowed teeth clicking together and glassy eyes wide and wild. A low hiss slipped out as it raised a hand to swipe at your face.

Before it could, another hand grabbed at its mouth, pulled, and wrenched its jaw clean from its skull. The distraction gave you enough time to run back to where you had dropped your knife. When you turned back ready to fight, you felt your eyes go wide at the sight in front of you. The veggie zombie, stood between you and the meat lover, both growling furiously and swiping at one another.

A powerful and well timed swipe from the meat zombie knocked the veggie zombie’s lower right arm clean off. In that moment you felt a way you never thought you’d feel towards these creatures: protective.

Without another thought you rushed forward and drove the knife into the meat zombie’s eye socket. It slumped to the ground in a heap, one final gurgle of a breath leaking out.

The store was silent then. You looked over at the veggie zombie. It was looking at you. You could swear there was a look of shock in its decaying features that matched your own.

The two of you left the store a few minutes later with a duffle bag filled with supplies and vegetables.

And that’s how you found an unlikely ally in a vegan zombie.


	4. Attention

Of all the clubs in LA, she would pick this one.

You see her before she sees you. You’re not sure if you should approach her or just leave her be. Before you can decide, your friend calls out to her, and she turns.

Her eyes lock with yours.

Surprise. Apprehension. Anger. Calm. It’s frightening to watch the emotions flicker across her face in that split second. The control she has is incredible. But you already knew that.

She walks over and chats with your friend, and amiably enough with you when the conversation calls for it. You can’t keep your eyes from wandering when she’s not looking at you. Her dress is sexy; there’s really no other word for it. It fits her curves and shows them off proudly. The deep navy looks black in the dim club lighting, but you catch the true color in the shimmer of the sewn in sequins when she moves. There’s even a bit of a slit going up her right thigh.

Jesus, why did she have to come in here tonight?

Suddenly, the song changes and catches your attention. A slow, bass filled number, sultry and electronic. Painfully familiar. Your eyes flick back over to her, and you see the recognition on her face too. For a moment your eyes meet.

A beat passes.

Two.

She excuses herself back to her group. You watch her go before she’s engulfed by the crowd on the dance floor.

A third beat.

Four.

God dammit.

You dive into the sea of people in suits and dresses, avoiding precariously held drinks and aggressively grinding couples. It’s a battle, but it’s worth it when you spot her. She’s still looking for her group.

You reach out to touch her arm. She turns and her eyebrows shoot up when she sees you. For a moment you expect her to slap you for following her. Honestly, you wouldn’t blame her. Instead, she does something that surprises you. She steps closer and into your space. Her eyes shine in the flashing, colorful lights, something unreadable passing through them before she starts to move.

You begin to move with her too. It’s innocent enough at first, but as the song continues you can feel the electricity building in the little space that still exists between you. You feel your heart beating along with the bass.

The song builds. The space shrinks. Your heart beats harder.

The room fades away, and suddenly your senses are filled with her. The touch of her hand as you spin her and then press her back tightly into you. The sound of her gasp as her hands fall to rest on yours where they grip her hips. The smell of her perfume as your head tilts forward into her shoulder. The taste of the salt in her sweat as your lips just barely brush her bare skin. And finally, the look in her eyes as she turns to stare into yours.

The intoxicating moment only lasts a few seconds, and then the song ends. The flicker of warmth you swore you saw in her eyes vanishes, replaced by an icy resolve. She pushes away from you and you stand there, her back to you, frozen in time.

She turns her head. Not enough to look you in the eyes again, but enough that you can see the “Goodbye” that passes her lips. You don’t hear it over the new pumping song, but you can still imagine how it sounds.

You can’t tell if the hint of regret is true, or if your imagination selfishly wills it.

She walks away into the crowd and disappears from your life again.


	5. Summoning

You’re standing in front of the kitchen counter, hands squeezing out the last of the icing onto the birthday cake. It’s a little weird, you think, that you’re making a cake for someone you don’t even know, but your neighbors insisted that every year someone makes a cake for the old man who owns these cabins. It’s a sweet gesture…no pun intended. In any case, you don’t really mind. You dedicated your life to the culinary arts, and for once you get to make something simpler than the fancy dishes the high end restaurant in town wants. 

Your hips sway as you sing along to the song barely crackling out of the radio. If you weren’t quite so far out from town it would probably sound better, but for some reason you like the crackle effect. It adds to the simplistic atmosphere of the moment. The song comes to an end as you finish writing the name - a funny coincidence you note later - and you step back to admire your work.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flicker before extinguishing completely, the radio cuts out, and a red glow begins to form behind you. You spin around and watch with wide, horrified eyes as a figure begins to rise from what you now realize is a burning hole in the floor. It stand a good two feet taller than you, horns just barely below the ceiling, shorter legs bent in a half-squat that leaves the knuckles attached to the big hands attached to the even bigger arms resting on the carpet. It’s bright red eyes stare down at you, and a toothy grin spreads across its face.

It opens its mouth, and you brace for the worst.

“Ah good, it’s the right kind this year.”

The room is silent as you process the statement, admittedly not what you were expecting to come out of this…demon? Probably demon. Probably.

Before you can get a word out, it steps forward and extends its hand. You shrink back against the counter with your arms raised defensively, but you feel no contact. Instead there is a slight scrape of china on the counter and you peek up to see the demon holding the cake you just finished.

“Nice work on the decoration by the way, best one I’ve seen yet. You should consider culinary school.”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I-I am- I mean I was. In culinary school,” you squeak out.

The demon looks down at you, and strangely enough you swear there is a look of delight behind the red glow. “Excellent!” it exclaims, and with that it tilts the plate towards its mouth and swallows the whole cake in one go. There is a look of bliss on its face as it closes its eyes and savors the flavor.

“Wonderfully done human,” it purrs (you swear that’s what it sounds like) before opening its eyes again to look at you. “This will satiate me for another year. Make sure that whoever occupies this house next year does the same.”

You gulp, but nod. The demon nods back, apparently satisfied, and before it returns to the burn mark on the carpet, you can’t stop yourself from asking a question.

“How did you get here?”

The demon stops and turns to look at you. “You completed the necessary ritual to summon me.”

“Ritual?” you ask. The demon looks amused by your lack of understanding.

“Yes. The surrounding houses make their preparations, while the offering house must simply create the sacrifice and play the song to notify its completion. Now if you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.”

It turns again and steps into the circle. You take a moment to ponder its explanation as it raises its arms and starts up the fire again, when something odd hits you.

“The summoning song is Milkshake?”

The demon turns its head and offers a grin. “It’s my favorite.”

With that the flames shoot up and engulf the demon. They vanish a second later, along with the demon, and all the lights and the radio turn back on. The room looks untouched, as if nothing had happened, the only sign being the missing cake from the counter behind you.

Huh. So that was why they were playing such an old song on the hits radio.


	6. Horizon

A whisper calls your name.  
You turn.  
Your eyes follow the yellow and white lines stretching down the blacktop.  
In the distance the road weaves off into the trees.  
The wind blows past you then, dragging your clothes and hair with it.  
Down the road.  
You want to know what’s past what you can see.  
But you should get back…  
The whisper calls again.  
Let go.  
Come and get me.  
Your fingers clench the car door.  
You steps inside.  
Seat belt on, car started, hands on the wheel.  
You glances back up.  
It’s waiting.  
Shift into drive.  
Back on the road.  
The wheels spin beneath you.  
You roll the window down and the wind whips your hair around.  
The fresh gale of a new night.  
You breathe in deeply.  
For an instant you close your eyes.  
The sun greets you when they open again.  
And warms your face.  
The brilliant orange orb rests low on the clouds in the distance.  
Clouds tinted gold by its touch.  
The sky fades from orange to pink to soft blue around it.  
A transition no artist can recreate.  
The treetops block the sun for an instant.  
And the leaves bend with the wind, wishing to follow you.  
Go they say.  
Go where we cannot.  
You step on the gas.  
Turn the radio up.  
Let the music define the moment.  
Adrenaline courses through your veins.  
The chase is on.  
The chase for the horizon.


	7. The Muse

I’ve come to realize, through my attempts at writing short stories over the past few years, that one’s inner muse is a curious little being. She isn’t one to be controlled. She doesn’t follow a schedule. Even when the writer feels the need to create something deep and meaningful, the muse does not budge. This trend has often frustrated me. Why can’t this divine inspiration come when I truly need it?

Tonight, however, I believe I may have had a glimpse at the answer.

After some hours of reading for numerous classes, I decided enough was enough. I packed up my books and computer cables and headed out into the night. Upon exiting the door of the student center, I was ambushed by drops of rain that I had completely forgotten about while studying. I hastened for my umbrella, and once I was settled beneath it I resumed the walk back to my dorm.

I didn’t get very far before my focus turned to rain itself. I noticed how quiet the campus seemed tonight, and my gaze wandered to the droplets I could see falling in the dim orange light of the street lamps. I remembered references to scenes like this in books I had read, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how I was suddenly in the very same situation.

That was when my fickle little muse stirred.

I felt my senses suddenly sharpen as they strove to collect every ounce of detail around me. The gentle tapping of the rain on top of my umbrella. The glow of the street lamps. The stillness of the air. The lack of people. The shadows. Everything became apparent to me at once, and in the back of my mind I knew why.

Whenever my muse comes to life, I tend to become very descriptive in my head as I observe the world around me. It’s as if I’m writing already, just without the paper and pencil or the keyboard and screen. I know I want to write about this when I return to my room, so my mind is creating a sort of rough draft to go on.

For example, I saw a member of the Corps walking towards the Quad during my journey. Nothing out of the ordinary on a normal evening, but tonight my senses were at their peak, and the creative cogs in my mind were spinning. The gentle rain meshed with his gray uniform, giving him a sense of transparency. Another of the orange street lamps shone behind him, giving him a sort of glow. To me, in that moment, he was like a ghost from the past, returning to visit the place where he had trained and lived in his youth.

All of this was imagined within the span of a few seconds. On any other night I wouldn’t have paid him any mind, but my muse wouldn’t allow me to pass up the opportunity. Now, as I sit here recalling my observation, I think I may have figured out how my muse works – how every artist’s muse works perhaps. The muse is the observer of the mind. She sits and watches the world, taking note of its little details that are often missed. When she sees something worth noting, something with a little magic and wonder and deeper meaning that deserves to be seen, she grabs ahold of your mind, turns you towards it, and says only this:

“Observe.”


	8. Waking Up

Ocean waves crash against the beach in the distance. Their consistency creates a sort of white noise that fluctuates ever so slightly with the bigger waves. Gulls cry out amidst them, their pitches wavering with each call.

A gentle breeze blows in through the screen door. Its cool touch floats gently over my face in a pattern reminiscent of the waves I can hear. Despite this, I am warm and comfortable in the sheets of my bed. My hair is partially covering my face, and it waves gently with the breeze, a soft touch against my cheek.

Warmth grows there suddenly. The sun must have hit just the right angle. I can’t help but smile as I relish in the contrast.

This is perfect. This is where I want to be.

I open my eyes and a white wall greets me. There is sunlight streaming in from the blinds of the window there, but it doesn’t reach far enough to touch the bed. The floor fan drones quietly nearby. My phone plays the sounds of the coast for me from the nightstand.

I remember where I am and sigh.

Maybe someday.


	9. Winter Storm

I’ve always had a very clear definition of what a storm is in my mind. Heavy rain pelting on windows, loud cracks of thunder, lightning flashing so brightly that it turns night into day. A storm is fierce and bombastic, a true force of nature that demands respect and admiration. You can know its fury before it ever reaches you by the rumbling in the distance. 

A winter storm, as I’ve come to discover, is a completely different beast. It’s calmer. The falling snow muffles the world and sends it into near silence, save for the breaths of wind that guide the flakes in intricate paths to the surface. The heavier the snowfall gets, the more you want to sit and watch it swirl by your window. It’s as mesmerizing as a strike of lightning, but in a softer way. 

However, a winter storm is deceptive. The danger isn’t readily apparent like it is with a thunderstorm. It’s easy to be captivated by the thick blanket of white coating the landscape before realizing the damage it does to everyday life. As the air is quieted, the rest of the world is too. Forced into a frozen standstill.


	10. The Night Fire

The night is cool and crisp. Your clothes are warm, and so is the fire in front of you. It dances amongst the logs in a brilliant display of reds, oranges, and golds. The coals below fluctuate their colors and form a gradient that slowly dies out at the edges of the pit. 

You take a moment to look up. The stars greet you. They shine in the pitch black sky just enough for you to see, but you know their brilliance is far greater outside the range of the town lights. Tree limbs illuminated by the fire intersect them, their rough surfaces bathed in a gentle orange that flickers with the fire. 

The sounds of a fiddle and a guitar fill your ears, while the beat of the drums reverberates in your chest.

You close your eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply. 

You exhale, and open your eyes to watch the breath swirl into the calm night air.


End file.
